


It's the Most Supernatural Time of the Year!

by ViennaWarren



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Destiel - Freeform, Family, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 11,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViennaWarren/pseuds/ViennaWarren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of winter themed drabbles/one-shots based on prompts. As mentioned before, requests are taken! I will update daily, every day of December. To submit a prompt/request, PM me and I'll get right to it. I can't write hardcore pairings, but I can do fluff (ie: Destiel) or brotherly stuff. Keep in mind it is rated T for Dean's [potentially] dirty mouth. Happy holidays! [Also on Fanfiction.net]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sweaters

When Dean Winchester ponders about all the past Christmases he and Sam have shared, they’re not always pleasant. Actually, most of them _aren’t_ pleasant, at all. He thinks back and grimaces to himself. There was the time when they were both teenagers, messing around of course, and Sam got hungover for the first time. And that one year when Dean had broken his ankle on a hunt. Once, when the brothers were both little, John had gotten a nasty cold and was completely miserable for Christmas Eve and days afterwards. Then, there were all those Christmases were Dean had stolen presents so Sammy could open them on Christmas day… and they had been chick presents.

Now that he thought about it, Dean had been at fault for the majority of bad Christmases. At least, in his mind he was. But this year, he was determined to do it right. Coming back to reality, he slams his Busch Light forcefully down on the coffee table, causing a sleeping Sam to jump. “Wha--?”

“Sam,” Dean announces, “this year, we’re gonna do Christmas right.”

“Dean… what are you talking about?” his brother mumbles sleepily, rubbing his face. Dean smiles and nods. “Yeah, I’ll be right back.”

* * *

He returns with a plastic bag and hears Sam sigh once he sees the classic cardboard box that could house only clothes. But that isn’t his only concern.

“Dude, where’d you go? It’s been over two hours.”

“I was shopping.”

“Shopping?” Sam asks, as if Dean had replied instead with “I was at The Wiggles reunion concert”.

“Yes, shopping.” He throws down the bag and collapses onto the couch. “Look what I got us!”

Sam curiously pokes around the plastic shopping bag and takes out a single box. “Can I open it?”

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead. Knock yourself out.”

Sam’s hands move quickly, removing the standard white tissue paper include, revealing…

“A sweater?”

The article of clothing Sam was holding could’ve blinded someone due to its stop sign red colouring. It was made of some uncomfortable, itchy material and sported a large, green Christmas tree with gold, brown and purple ornaments, topped with a star.

Dean practically beams. “Yup! It’s perfect, right? For the Christmas season, I mean. Since it’s only two days away, we can wear these. See, I got one too.”

He tears into another box and holds up a tacky sweater to match Sam’s. His is a dark, forest green and has a cat clad in a sweater and a mismatching scarf and hat while ice skating around on a frozen lake.

Sam wants to tell Dean just how awful they are, the sweaters. He would never, ever wear these. Ever. But something about the way his older brother’s eyes are twinkling makes him stop and think. “They’re great, Dean. I love mine.” he ends up saying with a grin. His brother laughs and then his face lights up again. “Oh, and I got some eggnog on the way home. You want some?”

“Sure.” He’s already cutting out the tag of his brilliant, red sweater and throwing it over his t-shirt. It’s cold in the motel room anyway. Dean brings his brother a cold glass of eggnog and watches Sam’s face as he takes a huge gulp of the stuff. Sam swallows hard and coughs, sputtering. “What the hell was in there?”

“I spiked it with a little Russian water.”

“Vodka? You put vodka in my _eggnog_?”

“To get you back for putting that shit in my glass last year.” Dean grins, putting on his sweater as well.

While _It’s a Wonderful Life_ is playing on their microscopic motel television, both brothers are truly happy, and that’s something cherishable in itself.

 


	2. Snowball Fights

It’s December 23, 1988 and snow is falling ceaselessly and silently. Bobby Singer looks up from the book he’s reading, glances outside and wonders how John Winchester can drop his boys off a little after one in the morning to go on a hunt at this time of year, two days before Christmas. He ponders how disappointed both boys must be, having to spend a holiday with an old man and his baseball cap. However, those thoughts are shoved quickly out of the man’s mind no sooner than they had entered.

* * *

The next morning, Bobby wakes to squeals of joy and excitement. A small, pale hand prods and rubs at the man’s unshaven face and then a giggle erupts out of the little boy. “Uncle Bobby, you’re prickly!”

Bobby peels himself off of the kitchen table, faintly wondering how he fell asleep here of all places, then opens his eyes to catch glimpse of Sam Winchester, hopping around with energy, his golden curls bouncing with him. “It’s snowing! There’s snow outside!” he hollers, like this is the best thing in the world. The toddler’s eyes are wide with anticipation. As Dean slinks down the stairs, Sam continues to dance around. “Snow, snow, snow, snow…”

“Sammy’s pretty excited, huh?” Dean comments, sitting down at the table. Bobby nods. “Dean, snow!” Sam informs him, as if he hasn’t already heard.

“That’s great, Sam!” his older brother says. “Maybe we can go outside later and play.”

This was Bobby’s cue to nod again. “Yeah, boys, we can do that.” He whips up some instant hot chocolate for the brothers’ breakfast, tossing in a couple marshmallows for good measure. Conversation is short and sweet; they drink it in no time.

Dean first dresses his kid brother in a slightly oversized jacket that could’ve only once belonged to Dean and Bobby handed him some tiny green mittens. Sam wiggles his fingers around, watching how they move within the mittens, fascinated by something so simple. Next come the socks and then boots, followed by a wool hat that smothers all of his baby curls. Dean shoves his feet in some beat up sneakers and off they go.

Bobby watches the boys a safe distance away as the run around his white front yard, shouting and giggling. Dean stops jogging and watches his little brother sprint around the yard, then promptly fall on his face. Instead of laughing, a look of concern washes over his face as he picks Sammy up and then fall backwards into the snow, soon having a good time again. Dean is so protective of his brother and Bobby realises this.

Minutes later, Sam’s screeching and running in circles as Dean tosses a snowball at him, and then another. The youngest brother plops down in the snow and ice, trying to push the snow into a spherical shape. “It doesn’t work!” he shrieks. Dean shakes his head and Bobby can practically hear him saying, “No, no, Sam, like _this_.”

They sit down together and Dean puts his hands over Sammy’s and helps him make his first snowball, which quickly lands in Dean’s hair by a squealing Sam.

Before he knows it, Bobby’s in his leather jacket, throwing snowballs at both boys. They’re practically running into each other, trying to escape the snowy, frozen wrath of Uncle Bobby and it makes the old man laugh so hard his sides hurt.

Although John wasn’t there for that particular Christmas, both Dean and Sam have fond memories of it.


	3. Hot Chocolate

Dean was in the middle of watching _National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation_ when a series of knocks interrupted him. He got up and casually opened the door. Seeing the figure in the doorway, he rolled his eyes nearly immediately.

“Cas, how many times have I told you that you live here and you don’t have to knock on the door of your own apartment?”

“Oh, y-yeah.” Castiel shuddered with cold. “I forgot.” He was holding a couple grocery bags and had snow and ice in his hair. Dean quickly grabbed some bags and stepped out of the way, so as to let his boyfriend in.

“It’s cold out there, huh?”

“22 degrees Fahrenheit.” Castiel reported, setting down the groceries with a huff. “And snowing.” he added. Dean was by his side in an instant. “Did you get the stuff?” he asked innocently.

“Yes, I believe so. Here.”

Dean tore through the bag Cas had just handed him and let out a whoop. “Yes, thanks babe! You’re the best.” He pecked Castiel on the cheek and held up the frozen apple pie. “I’ll go ahead and put this in the freezer and we can have our hot chocolate now.”

“I’ve never had any.” Castiel told him, putting some groceries in the pantry.

“What? Not even once?”

“No.”

“Well, this is the perfect time to try some! _National Lampoon’s_ is on TV too, so it’s even better.” Dean took out two Swiss Miss hot chocolate packets and grinned as he poured the contents into two Christmas mugs.

“ _National Lampoon’s_ …?”

“A holiday classic.” he explained. “You know, ‘It’s a bit nipply out. I mean nippy. What am I saying, nipple?’” Dean laughed loudly, his laughter dying down only when he noticed Castiel had no idea what the hell he was off about. “Ehhh, I guess you have to just watch it.”

Castiel nodded, putting a carton of milk in the fridge.

Meanwhile, Dean had filled the cups with water and put them in the microwave, waiting patiently. He stared at Cas in his long trench coat. “Are you cold?”

Castiel looked up from what he was doing. “Moderately.”

“Take your jacket off and I’ll get that fleece blanket Gabe sent us last year. We’ll sit on the couch and drink hot chocolate and then there’s no way you won’t be warm.”

“Okay, Dean.” Castiel responded, smiling and trying to keep the excitement from exploding right out of him.

Within minutes, they were seated on their ugly, plaid couch, covered by a blanket with mugs in hand.

“It’s really hot.” Dean warned, placing his cup on the coffee table in front of them. Castiel took a tentative sip and grinned. “Not excessively so… this is great, Dean!”

“Thanks, Cas.” he replied, his hand disappearing underneath the blanket to find Cas’ hand.

They sat their, drinking their Swiss Miss and watching _National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation_ until Dean fell asleep on Castiel’s shoulder.

Cas traced the freckles on Dean’s face gently, so as not to wake him up. They fascinated him and were so abundant, the little brown specs reminded him fondly of the stars in the night sky, shining and twinkling, all with a love stories of their own. With this lingering thought in his brain, Castiel also slipped into a series of dreams.


	4. 'Twas the Night Before

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the motel room

Not a demon was stirring, not even Crowley.

The stockings were hung by the chimney carelessly,

Because Dean had hung them and he was in a hurry.

 

The hunters were not nestled all snug in their beds,

Because Dean had always said, “You can sleep when you’re dead.”

So Dean in his leather jacket, and Sam with his laptop,

Had just settled down to watch an episode of “Ghostfacers”.

 

When outside the motel there arose such a clatter,

Dean sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.

Away to the window Sam flew like a flash,

Cocking his gun as Dean checked their ammunition sash.

 

The moon gave an eerie look to the freshly fallen snow

As both Winchester brothers peeked out the window to check for monsters way down below.

When, what to their wondering eyes should appear,

But a familiar angel with a trenchcoat that the boys held so dear.

 

With a little wave, his face looked oddly somewhat grim,

They hoped in a moment Cas would be with them.

And arrive he did, with a couple of “friends” they came,

And Cas said, “They made me bring them.”, then introduced them by name!

 

"Now Gabriel! now, Raphael! now, Balthazar and Lucifer!

On, Bobby! On, Garth! on, on Jo and Ellen!”

Hugs and kisses were exchanged around

And the Winchesters realised their family had been found

 

They drank hot chocolate and watched movies too,

Crowded in a small motel room, all feelings old and all feelings new..

So loud conversation and laughter, jokes and from Gabe a bad pun,

Made the night so awkward and fun.

 

And then, for some reason they all looked up at the ceiling

Gabriel announced, “Are those hooves on the roof or is my head reeling?”  
So everyone shut up and listened hard,

Down the chimney St Nicholas squeezed, fatter than a tub of lard.

 

Dean made his pouty face and cocked his gun,

While Garth suggested, “Dear god, should we run?”   
The old man looked like a typical Salvation Army Santa

A white beard, a cherry-red nose as well as a tote that read, “Help the homeless in downtown Atlanta!”

 

Dean used his big-boy voice and said, “Don’t move, old man!”

But Santa just chuckled then said, “My, my!” and held up his hand.

“I know you all by name! And what good boys and girls you’ve been this year,  
Especially the Winchesters, who’ve protected many people from harm and fear.”

 

Jo crossed her arms and Ellen appeared suspicious

Lucifer, in fact, was looking particularly vicious.

“But how do we know you’re the real Santa?” Sam asked, giving a bitchface.  
“I don’t know,” Santa replied, “But you could challenge me in a sack race!”

 

So they all went outside and lined up straight

As Lucifer counted down, then they all began to race.

Santa was in the lead and Raphael was far behind

Until Castiel hastily crossed the finish line!

 

Everyone cheered, especially Dean,

And a sneaky Santa tried to exit the scene.

“Hey, yo’ fat man!” Balthazar yelled, “You ain’t the real Santa!” as the man nervously stroked his beard,

And then that creepy old imposter, he flat out disappeared!

 

Garth sprang to out of his bed, sweating and screaming, quite frankly tired of dreaming,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, “I solemnly swear, to this day on,

"I will never touch another alcoholic drink I come upon !"


	5. Ice Skating

 Dean Winchester had been depressed for a couple weeks now. Lisa Braeden had tried her best to cheer him up and then when that didn’t work, she tried to _distract_ him. She thought of all the things he loved, like pie, greasy cheeseburgers, beer and sex. Most of all Sam. But he wasn’t here, so Lisa went with her plan to divert his attention away from his dead brother. However, nothing worked. Dean still moped around at the house, refusing to do anything. He was jobless, hopeless and unbelievably sad. But a couple days after, Lisa discovered that Dean acted for her son, Ben. He acted happy for her little boy because even though Dean was in a state of depression; he still loved Ben very much.

So when the brown eyed boy asked Dean if he’d like to go ice skating with him and Lisa, Dean hesitated before shooting him down.

“Well, Ben, I, uh… got some things to do.”

Ben frowned. “Can you do the things later? It’d be so much fun if you came.”

Seeing Ben’s disappointed face, Dean cracked. “Okay, fine, I’ll go.”

“Yay!” the small boy shouted triumphantly. “Mom, Mom! Guess what?!” He ran through the house, eager to explain to his mother the good news.

* * *

 

“Thanks, Dean.” Lisa told him quietly as the pulled out of the driveway. He nodded, giving her a weak smile. “Sure, it’ll be… fun.”

“I know right?!” Ben piped up. “I bet Dean’s the best ice skater ever.”

“I’ve never been.” Dean admitted. “We, I mean, Sam and I, uh, we never went ice skating.”

“Really?” Lisa inquired. “Ben loves to ice skate.”

The boy nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. I like to skate fast, like those Canadian hockey players.”

Dean chuckled as he turned into the ice skating rink, parking Lisa’s car. They all clambered out, Ben still chattering excitedly, but Dean’s mind was somewhere else.

The ice skating rink was called, “Mr Coco’s” and had the image of a cartoon clown as the logo. Dean’s stomach sank as his mind drifted to Sam’s abnormal fear of clowns… he was always so fucking scared of them. Had he been scared when he had fallen into the pit of Hell?

Lisa grabbed his hand, snapping him out of his daze. “You okay, sweetie?” she asked, knowing full well that he was not okay.

“I’m fine.” Dean said, knowing full well that he was lying.

* * *

Once they had all gone inside and paid the entrance fee and for their skates, Ben led them into the ice rink. “Okay, Dean,” he instructed as he stepped onto the ice, “you might want to hold on to the side of the glass.”

Dean scoffed, his breath coming out in a puff of smoke like a dragon. “Ben, I think I can handle it.”

He bravely put one foot after another on the ice. As soon as he had followed the small boy on to the ice, Dean felt himself tipping backwards. Like anyone would, he began desperately flailing his arms around, trying to keep himself from falling. Unfortunately, this strategy didn’t work and Dean landed on his ass in the ice.

Ben couldn’t contain his peals of laughter; he giggled as Lisa hastily helped Dean up. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “C’mon, Dean!” Ben exclaimed, skating faster and faster, using the momentum from his heavy skates.

“I think I’m gonna stick with your mom.” Dean called after him. “It looks like she might need some help learning how to skate.”

Lisa laughed and elbowed him playfully, taking him by the hand and dragging him along. She pecked him on the cheek and they skated together, Dean with his right hand trailing along the wall for support.


	6. Trouble

Sam Winchester knew he was in trouble when he heard the snickering following him home from school. It had been a bad day for him and he’d accidentally walked into a group of football players after the math team meeting. He apologised and continued on his way but once he was outside of the school grounds, he realised how screwed he really was.

His feet crunched in the snow and ice as he briskly made his way down a road towards the apartment his family was renting for the time being. Sam could see his breath as he exhaled and he watched it swirl around him. Abruptly, the sound of feet pounding on a snow covered pavement snapped the youngest Winchester out of his thoughts.

“Hey, Winchester!”

With a quick glance behind his back, Sam saw what appeared to be the entire football team chasing after him. He didn’t stop to make small talk; instead, he took off in a wild sprint, some small part of him thinking he could outrun them. He didn’t. Sam was panting and completely out of breath when they caught up with him.  

“This him, Pudge?”

A slightly chubby boy nodded. “Yup. Ran straight into me, the little bastard.”

“I didn’t mean to--” Sam tried to explain, before being nailed in the stomach by one of the nearest guys. He let out a grunt of surprise before doubling over.

“Get him, guys!”

With a single command from the head quarterback, the football players began taking turns hitting him. In fact, Sam was on the icy ground in seconds flat. As they kicked and punched him, all he could think of was how disappointed John would’ve been of him, had he seen him now. “Thank god he’s on a hunt.” Sam thought as he curled up into a ball and put his hands up against his face.

“If only Dean were here to beat the shit out of these guys.” Sam wished as one of the boys’ fists made a direct connection with his nose, easily breaking it. Sam cried out in pain, immediately regretting it. He sounded like a little girl! He began to think Dean not being here was for the best anyway. A swift, hard kick to his back caused Sam’s vision to go black.

* * *

When he came to, it was still snowing and there were snowflakes on his eyelashes. Sam blinked, wondering vaguely where the hell he was when it finally came to him. Next, came the pain. He must’ve had a thousand bruises because it hurt just to breathe.

“Sam!” Dean’s voice was laced with an urgency he reserved only for emergencies. Sam heard the rumble of a car and he exhaled with relief, then winced.

“Dean!”

His own voice was so weak and feeble, he cleared his throat and tried again. “Dean!”

Within moments, his older brother was running over to him, alarmed but the red-tinted snow surrounded Sam.

“What the hell happened? You were supposed to be home three hours ago!"

“R-really?” Sam shivered. “I was j-jumped after th-the club meeting.”

“I can see that, dumbass.” Dean said softly, grabbing his brother under the arms and easily picking him up. Sam was a skinny, scrawny thing and it often kept Dean awake at night.

“I’m c-cold, Dean.” Sam tried to stop the words from coming out of his mouth, but Dean just looked angry. “I know kiddo, just take it easy. Lie back here, I’ll drive you home.”

He placed Sam in the backseat of the car and hastily removed his large, leather jacket and covered his baby brother with it.

Sam inhaled the jacket’s scent, although it hurt to do so. It smelled of cheap cologne, tobacco smoke and the dollar shampoo they all used. It smelled like Dean and Sam liked it.

* * *

 

Before he knew it, Sam was lying in his and Dean’s bed, back at the apartment. Dean had replaced his jacket with actual sheets and a quilt from the couch. There was an ice pack on his nose and under his back, and all his cuts were stitched up.

“I fixed your nose and set it while you were out.” Dean told him, sitting down on the bed.

“Thanks, Dean.” Sam mumbled sleepily, groaning softly.

“You want an aspirin or two?”

“Sure.” He paused. “And your leather jacket.”

Dean smirked. “What do you want with my jacket?”

“It reminds me of home.”

Dean didn’t even have to ask what home Sam was referring to; he knew that Sam considered everywhere home as long as he was with his older brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My great-grandmother just passed away, so chapters seven and eight might be a little late. My apologies.


	7. Winter Wonderland

“This is amazing Sam!” Jess crunched on a candy cane as she looked up at the grey sky. Snow was drifting lazily towards the already coated ground. Sam Winchester smiled as his girlfriend tilted her head up to the sky, catching snowflakes in her hair and eyelashes. “How did you even get us a place so nice?”

“Oh, what? This cabin?” Sam scoffed. “I rented it out for the weekend.” 

The truth was Dean or “Thomas Abernathy” had used his credit card to afford the place for three days. Sam couldn’t have been more grateful for his brother or for Stanford having a winter break. 

“Sam, c’mon!” she tugged him out of his thoughts and over to the old fashioned sled they’d found in a closet. “Let’s try it out. You of all people deserve a break from classes.”

He laughed as she pecked him on the cheek. “I’ll sit in front.” 

Jess let him on the front half of the sled and she sat directly behind him, so close she could smell his sandalwood cologne. “You ready?” 

Sam nodded and kicked off, sending the couple racing towards the end of the hill. The sled worked like a charm, picking up momentum quickly. Jess shrieked good-naturedly and grabbed her boyfriend tighly around the waist. They made it to the bottom of the hill and spun in a circle before coming to a halt. Both were laughing hysterically. 

“That was… great!” 

“I know!” 

It was Sam this time who leaned in for the kiss, lingering and savouring the taste peppermint still on her lips.


	8. Snow Angels

Dean Winchester was engulfed in an unbearable cold. “Move arms and feet!” Sam commanded, wobbling over to his older brother. The three inches of snow covering the ground made it difficult for the toddler to walk, giving Sammy the appearance of a baby penguin. 

“I am.” Dean snapped, flailing around in the snow frustratedly. Sam flopped down into the snow next to him. “Watch.” He expertly moved his arms and legs back in forth, creating an angel imprint. The small boy cautiously got up and examined his handiwork. “See, Dee?” 

Dean had given up correct Sam in saying his name; he knew the kid would get it some day. “Okay, okay.” With robotic movements, Dean copied his brothers arms. What resulted was a rather choppy looking angel, but a snow angel nonetheless. 

“You did it!” Sam squealed, clapping his chubby hands. “Yay!”

Dean stood up, careful not to ruin his masterpiece, and smiled. “It looks as good as yours, I bet.” 

“Yep!” Sam sniffled, his nose runny and red from the cold. Dean half-picked his baby brother up and half-dragged him. “Let’s go inside and warm up, Sammy.” 

Sam frowned at him. “But--”

“We’ll make more snow angels later.” the oldest Winchester assured him.


	9. Candlelit Dinner

“So, uh, Charlie… whatcha been up to?” Dean asked the redheaded young woman with a forced smile.

“Not much.” she admitted. “I quit my day job, I’m thinking getting into something new.”

“Like what?” Sam inquired. “Looking for a hunting position?”

Charlie Bradbury chuckled. “Um, no. Please no.”

Cue awkward silence. Sam shuffled his feet a bit. They both loved Charlie half to death, but this might’ve been a bad idea. Dean’s bad idea anyway; he was the one who suggested the take Charlie in for the holidays. Ever since she pulled the plug on her mother, things hadn’t quite been the same with her and this was the first Christmas without her physically being there. Both brothers knew how difficult it was to lose a mom.

“You guys are so weird. What do you normally do on Christmas eve?”

Simultaneously, Dean responded with ‘drink’ and Sam with ‘sleep’.

Charlie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay, way lame. How about I go to the store, pick up some groceries and make you guys dinner?”.

Both Winchester nodded. “Yeah, alright."

“Hey, Charlie, here’s some cash.” Sam handed her a couple twenties, but she shook her head. “It’s Christmas and I’m staying at your house so the least I can do is pay for my own groceries.”

* * *

An hour later, she was back in the kitchen cooking. Christmas music from the 1940s drifted from the record player and into the living room where Sam was doing some research and Dean was sprawled out on the couch, “resting his eyes” but not sleeping, of course.

Abruptly, all the lights went out. Sam immediately leapt to his feet, assuming the worst, and Dean grunted and fell off the couch. He quickly recovered, standing by his brother’s side. “Get the salt!”

“Dudes, chill. Candlelit dinner. Ever heard of one?”

They ventured into the kitchen where Charlie had fixed a large dinner with candles spread down the table, giving the whole room a warm, yellowish hue. The two sat down as Charlie rattled off the dinner’s menu.

“On this side of the table we got a Honey Baked ham, because it’s the best brand, green beans with garlic and lemon juice, sweet potatoes, French bread with honey butter and of course, some beers.”

“Damn Charlie,” Dean complimented, “you inviting anyone else over?”

She smiled amiably as Sam gave his approval as well. “Looks amazing.”


	10. Sorry!

Thankfully, Sam was a planner. He organised and planned for many events, even when hunting. In fact, he was kind of known as the “soccer mom” of hunters because he was always so stocked with supplied. Hell, he was prepared for the damn apocalypse. One thing he wasn’t prepared for, however, was a snow storm.

“We’re expected at least another foot and a half of snow.” the weatherman announced brightly, gesturing to a map.

“Great.” Dean groaned. “Just what we need. Your turn.” He nodded towards the deck of cards on the _Sorry!_ game board. Sam retrieved a card and sighed. “Backwards four. Did you say we needed a one or a two to get out of ‘home’?”

“Yeah, it says right here.” Dean was clearly holding the instructions upside down. Sam clucked his tongue. “Dean, this is so boring. Call Cas and tell him to come play with us.”

“You call Cas.”

“Fine. Cas, please come play _Sorry!_ with us.”

They waited for an answer or a sign. “Nope. Nothing. Dean, you pray to him. He listens to you.”

“Uh, okay. Cas, please get your feathers untangled and get your ass down here.”

Castiel suddenly appeared, sitting on Dean’s lap. “C-Cas!” he stammered. “Warn a guy, would you?”

Sam laughed. “Here, Cas, you can be yellow. We’re playing _Sorry!._ ”

The angel nodded. “It’s okay, although apologies aren’t necessary; I don’t know what you are playing.”  

Both brothers grinned stupidly. “Cas, your turn.”


	11. Hiding Beneath a Quilt

As soon as Sam left to pick up some groceries before the impending snow storm, Dean prayed to Castiel. “Uh, Cas, Sam’s gone. He’ll be out for around an hour so--”

“Hello, Dean.” announced a gruff voice directly behind the Winchester. 

“Holy shit, Cas!” Dean ran his hand through the front of his hair. “Jesus, give a guy a warning.” 

Castiel pecked him on the cheek and hung up his trench coat. “An hour you said?”

He nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t really feel like doing anything, I feel kinda sick.” he admitted. “Sam’s picking up some Delsym.” 

Castiel’s face showed hints of worry and concern as he reached out to touch Dean’s cheek. “You look pale.” 

The man shrugged, coughing a bit. “Just kinda cold, not much.” 

Cas took him by the hand and led Dean over to the couch, making him sit down. “I’m going to make you some soup.” he told him matter-of-factly. “I learned that the instructions are printed right on the can.” 

Dean smiled as a red and green plaid quilt was placed over his shoulders. “Yeah, they are.”

Ten minutes later, the eldest Winchester was sipping his soup and holding hands with his angel. “I love--” Dean began to say, only to be interrupted by the door opening. He choked on his soup and pulled his hand away from Castiel. 

“Dean, I’m home…” Sam’s voice trailed off as he saw his brother and Castiel sitting underneath a quilt together. 

“Are you guys…? Um, what’re you doing?”

“I think we should tell him, Dean.” Castiel said, glancing sideways at him. Dean shot him a dirty look. “There’s nothing to fucking tell him actually.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “What is with you two?” 

“Sam, I’m fucking your brother.” Castiel said expertly, as he had practised in front of the mirror millions of times. He’d learnt the line from one of Dean’s chick-flicks and had been determined to use it sooner rather than later.

Dean blushed furiously, setting his soup on the table in front of him. “Sam…” he started. His younger brother gave them a look. “I don’t care and I probably don’t need any more details than Cas just gave me. Do what makes you happy.” 

Dean’s hand snaked over and grabbed Cas’. “This makes me happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sam doesn’t know Dean and Cas are going out and he comes home to find them… fill in the blank!
> 
> AN - So, I understand a lot of people don’t ship Destiel but I wanted to respond to this prompt, so… it’s fluff, okay? Nothing intense! Except maybe language… do you guys care? Ehehehe…


	12. Mistletoe

Sam Winchester was trying his hardest not to doze off. It had been weeks since both Dean and Castiel had mysteriously disappeared and he was worried sick. Where the hell could they have gone? Sam had searched everywhere, it seemed. The possibility that Castiel had used his “angel mojo” as Dean called it was slim to none; why would they leave and not tell him where they were? His fingers gently flipped through page after page of the book he was reading. The lack of published information on Leviathans certainly wasn’t helping.

He felt his eyes flutter shut and his head began to nod. Immediately, it snapped up and his eyes flew open in a panic. This head bobbing continued for awhile until Sam finally put his head down on the table and slept.

Sam was dreaming of a girl, a beautiful girl with long, brown, wavy locks and a dazzling smile. He didn’t know who she was, but the young woman offered her hand to him and he accepted it. They walked along a snow-covered gravel path. The girl was barefoot and Sam felt the sudden need to scoop her up in his arms, which he did. Their breath came out in small white clouds and Sam shivered. A cabin was in the distance and Sam knew that was were they were headed.

He opened the cabin door once they arrived and carried the girl inside. There was a warm glow to the room, most likely due to the flames that was leaping about in the fireplace. Sam glanced at the girl and smiled as he saw a strand of mistletoe hanging above their heads. The Winchester leaned in slowly, savouring the moment, and closed his eyes. Blindly, he brought his hand to her cheek and was shocked to find it… prickly. His eyes shot open and two twinkling hazel eyes were staring straight back at him. Sam recoiled and the girl quickly finished morphing into a guy.

“Gabriel?”

The trickster was clad in faded jeans and an olive green jacket over a tight fitting t-shirt, all the while, grinning brightly. “Hey, Sam! How’ve ya been?”

“Gabriel.” Sam responded sternly. “Wake me up, I know this is an allusion.”

“Who knows what kind of fun we could have?” Gabriel snapped his fingers and Sam’s shirt vanished completely, showing off his tight abs and leaving him wearing nothing but an old pair of jeans.

“Gabriel!” Sam gave the man a total bitchface. “Give me back my clothes.”

The trickster pretended to ponder the suggestion. “Hmm… I think ‘no’. I like seeing you all half-naked and pissed off. It turns me on.”

Sam pursed his lips. “Give me my clothes.”

“Kiss me.”

The Winchester threw up his hands. “ _Gabriel_. What the hell?!”

“Gabriel's so formal, Jesus, call me Gabe. Oh yeah and um. Kiss. Me.” He pointed to the bunch of leaves above them. Sam crossed his arms, annoyed. “Wake me up!”

“Sam,” Gabriel whined, “you have to play along. Those are the rules.” He gestured violently at the mistletoe dangling above their heads. “It’s a romantic setting, you’re going to have to do some romancing.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Romancing?”

“Yes.” Gabe said in a huff.

“Fine.” Sam muttered.

“Wait, really? You mean you’ll actually--” Gabriel was cut of by Sam’s soft lips gently pressing against his own. Time seemed to take a vacation as the two embraced. Gabriel’s hand went to Sam’s flexed tricep as they kissed, noses touching. Gabriel grinned into the kiss, happier than he’d been in a long while. Sam’s lips parted for a breath, then continued to move his lips in sync with the other man. Finally, he pulled away.

“Wow.” Gabriel breathed heavily. “That was amazing.”

Sam nodded, cheeks flushed. “Okay, send me back. A deal’s a deal.”

“Fine. But I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Gabriel said with a wink, snapping his fingers.   
  
“No, wait, don’t bother me tomorr--” Sam began to say, only to wake up with a start in his motel room.


	13. Snowman

“Dea, I bored.” a tiny Sam Winchester whines, having a little trouble with his ‘r’ sounds. His brother, Dean, is drawing a picture in the corner of the room, where the heater is. It’s absolutely freezing in the motel room they are staying at but Dean isn’t about to complain. He’s eight years old, a big boy, after all.

“Dad’ll be back soon. Just wait.”

The toddler stamps his foot angrily, causing his tiny curls to bounce. “But I _bored_.”

The older boy gives him a stern look. “Shh, be quiet and draw Dad a picture for when he gets back.”

“I wanna play outside, Dea.” Sam argues, crossing his arms. “I don’ wanna draw nothin’.”  

Dean sighs, setting his crayon down. “Fine. But it’s cold outside so you’ll need your big jacket.”

Sam, who usually complains and fusses whenever he’s forced into his only huge, puffy jacket, is unusually tolerant. Even when Dean shoves boots onto his feet and forces his brother’s tiny fingers into gloves, Sam doesn’t cry one bit. Dean picks up Sam, careful not to drop him, and the two head out the door.

Before he realizes it, Sam’s kicking his legs and frantically waving his arms around, trying to escape the older boy’s grasp and run around in the blanket of snow that’s covering the lot. Dean wastes no time in putting Sammy down on the ground and starting to build a snowman.

Sam stumbles over to his brother, cheeks chapped and red. “What doing?”

“Building a snowman.” Dean responds, rolling a small ball of snow and ice through the lawn. He starts on another one, stacking it on top of the other until his has a stack of three. Sam pats the snow on the potential snowman, grimacing like it’s something very important. “This good?”

“That’s fine, Sammy.” Dean pulls out a few Starburst from his pocket and forms a colourful smile. Two rocks for the eyes, a couple of sticks for the arms and a leaf for the nose. Dean immediately thinks it looks completely stupid. He’s about to wreck it when Sam starts to wail. “No, Dea, no! Bad!”

“Okay, okay, I won’t.” he promises, backing away from the snowman.

“His name is Fruity.” Sam informs Dean, a small finger pointing to the snow figure. Dean laughs and picks his brother up, ready to go back inside. “Alright, Sam.”


	14. Hot Baths

Dean Winchester was chilled all the way through to his bones. He’d been hunting a wendigo and it had been eventually successful, but he had fallen into a half-frozen lake somewhere in the process. He was currently shivering forcefully as he attempted to unlock the apartment door. His hands were shaking so bad, it took him awhile to actually fit the key inside the lock. When he opened the door, his nerves relaxed in relief.

The only thing on his mind was heat. He had to warm up somehow because this freezing cold was unbearable. Trembling like a leaf, Dean stumbled into the bathroom and drew a bath. He watched it enviously, the steam unfurling in tendrils. Eagerly, he went ahead and slipped into the tub, sighing as the warmth eased his mind.

He couldn’t remember the last bath he’d taken; he was more of a shower kind of guy, because showers were manly and shit. But baths were just as good if not better, he decided. Dean sank down further in the comfortable waters until he was in up to his chin. This would be what heaven would feel like.

“Hello, Dean.” A familiar voice snapped Dean out of his thoughts. The Winchester jumped, hearing Cas’ voice, and instantly tried to preserve any modesty he had left.

“C-Cas!” he stuttered in shock.

“I wanted to check up on you.”

“Now’s not the time!” Dean retorted, snatching a towel and hastily standing upright to wrap it around himself. “Come back later.”


	15. Classic Worrying

The bell above the door of Harvelle’s Roadhouse chimed pleasantly as someone entered.

“We’re closed.” Jo had her back turned while she was wiping down tables.

“You don’t have time to whip up two more drinks?” Dean Winchester asked, stepping inside the warm bar, accompanied by his brother. Jo whirled around. “Dean! Sam! Hey, what’re you doing here?” she exclaimed.

Sam shrugged. “It’s freezing outside and we were in the neighborhood, so we figured we’d stop by. Also, Dean insisted.”

Jo stared at Dean, who was were a knitted cap and Sam whose hands were clad in mittens. “Who made those for you?”

Dean looked embarrassed and immediately removed his. “A vic’s mother. Her knitting obsession got increasingly worse when her husband died.”

“Awh, don’t take it off, it suits you.” Jo laughed amiably, finishing up the last table. “I’m glad y’all did come in. What can I get you two?” Her blonde hair bounced as she made her way behind the counter.

Sam and Dean both sat down on barstools, surveying the menu.

“I’ll have just a beer.” Sam decided, glancing at Dean. He shrugged. “I don’t know, surprise me.”

Jo handed Sam his beer and began mixing Dean’s drink as Ellen rounded the corner. “Boys!” she said breathlessly, surprised. “How are you two?”

She immediately hugged both. “We’ve been holding our own.” Sam told her. “Taking cases here and there.”

“I’m glad you’re both safe and sound.”

Jo slid a Jack & Coke Dean’s way, which he wholeheartedly accepted.

“Where will you two stay the night?” Ellen asked, concern clearly in her face. Dean took a sip of his drink before replying. “There’s a motel a couple miles away from here that we were planning to hole up in.”

Sam nodded but Ellen shook her head. “Why don’t y’all stay here? I s’pect y’all have had far too many motel stays lately. You two could use a good home to stay in.”

Dean was about to politely decline when something in Jo’s sparkling brown eyes stopped him. “Okay, sure, if you don’t mind.”

* * *

“Sam, you can sleep in the spare bedroom and Dean, I s’pose you could sleep on the pullout bed.”

“That’s sounds fine, Ellen.” Dean replied, content, as Sam left for his bedroom. “I’ll go fetch some blankets.” Ellen walked briskly away. Dean sat down on the couch and was promptly joined by Jo.

“So how’ve you been, really?”

“I’m fine. We’re fine, I mean, me and Sammy. Money’s tight I guess, but when isn’t it, you know?” Dean appeared to be worried, a feeling Jo figured Dean wasn’t familiar with.

“You guys will figure it out. You always do.”

“Yeah,” Dean yawned, “but I’m also worried about Sam.”

“Why?”

“He just seems… tired, lately.”

Jo stared at him. “Dean, you look tired.”

Ellen came back and set the blankets on the arm of the couch. “Goodnight, Dean. We’ll see you in the morning.” She kissed him on the cheek and closed her bedroom door behind her.

“I am tired. I just… have to worry about Sam first.” he explained. Jo helped him pull out the bed and spread out the blankets. “I’m worried about you, Dean.”

He smiled weakly. “Oh, don’t. I’m okay.”

She led him into the bed, pulling back the blankets for him. He didn’t take his leather jacket off and she didn’t push it.

“I’m going to sleep here, if you don’t mind.” Jo announced, crawling into bed.

He nodded. “Alright.”

Jo slept on Dean’s shoulder nearly the whole night but Dean didn’t know it. He’d gotten a full night’s sleep and it’d been the first time in awhile Dean had slept with a girl without wanting to actually sleep with her.


	16. 99 Problems

The sky was cloudy and grey, an ominous sign, had it not been snowing. Castiel stumbled through the street in a haze, his vision blurring from both the flurry of snowflakes and his obvious intoxication. By miracle and the familiar Impala parked out front, Cas made it all the way to the front door. He tripped his way up the three steps, pulled himself up and exhaustedly knocked on the door.

Sam opened it and gave the visitor a confused look. “Cas…?”

He was covered in snow and shivering violently.

“What the hell happened to you?” Sam asked, helping the angel inside and into a chair.

“I f-found a l-liquor store.”

“And?”

“I d-drank it.” Castiel snapped through chattering teeth. Sam rolled his eyes and presented his best bitchface before yelling up the stairs to Dean.

“ _Deaaaan_!” he shouted. “I need your help with something.”

The eldest Winchester casually ambled downstairs, stopping in his tracks upon seeing the frozen angel. “Cas?”

“Wh-what?”

“Are you o-- what happened?”

“A-ask your br-brother.” he shivered miserably, giving up on being angry. Sam pursed his lips. “He visited a liquor store, ‘drank it’ and then walked home during a snowstorm.”

“It is not my fault my v-vessel is weak.”

“Cas, you’ve gotta take care of your vessel… look, you’re shaking!” Dean said worriedly, then cleared his voice so as not to sound so pansy-like.

“It is not of import.”

“Yes it is.” Dean decided. He threw open the closet and tossed a patterned quilt over over the trembling man. Sam nodded. “I’ll start you a hot shower.”

Castiel’s teeth eventually cease to clash together as he got warmer and he moved from the chair to the couch, which was much more comfortable. He curled up into a ball and wrapped the blanket around himself. Dean cleared his throat again and began talking.

“Cas, you really have to take better care of yourself. I mean, I get that you don’t care, but Sam does, I do… we-- we love you man and I hate seeing you like this. Drunk and freezing? Nuh huh. Not gonna work. Especially not now. We need you more than ever. And I know tomorrow’s gonna be a bitch, what with you hungover and all but we’re gonna need you too--”

He was interrupted by a loud, congested snored. Dean sighed and stood up, ready to tell Sam to turn off the hot water.


	17. Snow Shovelling

_Bobby Singer was freezing his ass off. It was the middle of January and snow was piled nearly three feet deep in all directions since he’d awoke. Knowing Ellen would love him for doing it, he crawled out of bed, threw on yesterday’s clothes and trekked outside into the baby ice age._

_Shovel clasped tightly in hand, Bobby pondered if he should even bother shovelling the driveway. What did it matter, anyway? The snow was just going to grow back the next night. Regardless, he thrust the shovel into the frozen driveway and started to make a walkway. For an hour he worked, clearing the driveway. Wind bit his cheeks and nipped as his nose, mocking him._

_Suddenly, a pair of red, gloved hands snaked around his waist and he winced in surprise._

_“Hey, baby. Looks great.” she commented, kissing his unshaven face. He gave her a smile. “It’s just gonna freeze over again tonight.”_

_“We’ll have to just clear it off tomorrow then.” Her lips brushed his cheek softly and he closed his eyes, savoring the sweet moment. Ellen’s kiss was so light, he didn’t even feel it. At all._

_Bobby’s eyes shot open, but Ellen was nowhere in sight. “Ellen? Ellen?!”_

* * *

Sam walked into Bobby’s room, looking for a book on vengeful spirits, not noticing Bobby was asleep in his bed.

“Ellen? Ellen?” He called out gruffly, searching for a person who’d been long gone. Sam turned, realizing the situation, and debated whether or not to wake him from his dream.

Sam decided to let him be and exited the room, a heavy feeling lingering in his heart.


	18. Sleep is for Suckers

“Kevin, you need to sleep.” Sam Winchester scolded, shaking his head. Kevin looked up from his book sheepishly. “Can’t. Anyway, it’s Christmas. No time for sleep, right?” He gave both brothers a weak smile, but Dean wasn’t fooled.

“Dude. You look like you were run over by a semi-truck, struck by lightning and then tackled by Drew Brees. Twice.”

“Who’s Drew Brees?”

“Get educated, man. When’s the last time you caught a few z’s anyway?”

Dean and Sam had just tracked the prophet down, and had found him alright, sleep deprived, paranoid and somewhat depressed.

“It’s, uh, been awhile. You know, a couple hours here, thirty minutes there.” He sniffed congestedly, rubbing his face roughly. The shadows lurking underneath his eyes made them look ten times bigger than they actually were. And if Kevin Tran was truly honest with himself, he really did feel like shit. All the sleep loss, migraines and the aspirins he took daily had taken a toll on him.

“Sleep!” Sam and Dean shouted simultaneous. The sudden noise made Kevin’s head hurt expodentially and he winced. “Sorry.” Dean muttered. “But really? You can’t even keep the damn lights on because bright lights affect the headaches you’ve been having for months.”

“Sleep won’t get rid of all my problems.” he snapped, putting down his book and trading it for a tablet.

“No, no, no.” Sam reprimanded. “Not until we watch you get a full twelve hours of sleep, minimum.”

“Twelve hours? I don’t even think I could go that long if I _wanted_ to!”

Dean took the tablet from Sam and placed it on the counter. “If you ever want to see the light of day again, you’re going to get in that bed and go to sleep; screw consciousness!”

“No.”

Sam shook his head and abruptly scooped up the prophet in his arms like a newlywed bride.

“Hey!” yelled Kevin, squinting up at the youngest Winchester. “Put me down! I’m not three years old!”

“You sure act like it.” Dean scoffed, following them into an open bedroom.

Even though he fought valiantly, Kevin fell asleep within six minutes and didn’t wake up for fourteen hours. Dean and Sam took occasionally coffee breaks, but stayed up with him the entire night. The following day, Kevin awoke without any migraines.


	19. Gingerbread House

John Winchester had just arrived home from work. Although it was a mere three days away from being Christmas, the auto shop was nearly overflowing with customers. Stepping through the door of he and Mary’s small home came as a relief to him.

He hung up his coat on a rack and unraveled a scarf from his neck. “Mary?”

“In the kitchen!” she called out sweetly. John followed her voice and smiled warmly at the sight before him.

Mary was wearing her maternity apron and rolling out some kind of orangish dough, sprinkling some flour here and there while Christmas music drifted through the stereos. Dean watched his mother intently, and attempted to construct a gingerbread house with Hershey’s Kisses and gumdrops.

“Isn’t it just the most darling thing?” Mary asked him, setting down the rolling pin and placing a hand on her round stomach. “I wonder if he’ll be born on Christmas?”

John laughed. “Oh, honey, I think that’s a little early. Maybe June or July?”

“Daddy!” Dean shouted, “look what I make!”

John moved past Mary and saw an entire gingerbread family. Sure, the heads were a little misshapen and the fatherhead gingerbread man only had one leg, but it was a family nonetheless. “I love it, son.”

“Try one!” the small child offered, holding up a broken piece of gingerbread. John politely shook his head.

“Oh, no thanks kiddo, I don’t really like cookies that much.”

This earned him a pouting face from Dean and a disapproving look via his wife. John gave in. “Well, okay , okay, just a bite!”


	20. A Grave Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm putting an author's note at the beginning of the chapter this time because this chapter features Destiel as well as mentions of major character death and I'd rather not freak anyone out. I'm sorry I put a somewhat gloomy chapter into a frackin' Christmas collection but it felt right at the time... I'm sorry to all of you that hate these kind of things... I don't mind if y'all skip this chapter and wait for the next one. If you do read, I hope you at least like it a little bit. Thanks to all who reviewed last chapter; too kind!

It was so perfect, the bench being roughly twenty metres from the gravesite.

A greying old man was seated on it, staring blankly at a particular headstone. Although the temperature was below freezing and the wind was whipping through his snowy hair, he wore no coat. His hands were frozen and did not cease to tremble. In all honesty, but his husband and his doctors had strictly forbidden Dean from visiting his brother, but goddamn it, it was Christmas.

His Parkinson's disease was a downer for sure. He'd been forced to resign from hunting just months ago. Castiel had assured him it wouldn't be a big deal, but both of them knew how important it was to him and how important it had been to Sam. Sam.

Dean glanced at the bouquet of flowers he had brought to put by the gravestone. The florist had warned him the roses would soon turn from the natural red to a dark black, due to the weather; Dean didn't care. What was black from red anyway?

There was a dull, aching pain in his back and his arthritis was acting up too. When he tried to stand up, his energy left him and he found himself incapable of doing anything but sitting. _"Son of a bitch,"_  he thought to himself,  _"How am I gonna get these on Sammy's grave?"_

The wind picked up, hitting him in the face cruelly, then ran its icy fingers through Dean's hair. Hmm… well if I freeze to death, I guess I could give them to him in person." So he stiffed up, straightened his back as much as possible, and allowed the cold to embrace him fully. His thin cotton t-shirt was no match against Vermont weather and he began to shiver violently. Dean closed his eyes and reminisced.

* * *

_"Cool, legos!" Dean exclaimed, holding them up for his parents. "Daddy, Mom, look what Santa got me! Look Sammy!" He turned to the tiny infant. "Legos!"_

_"That's great, sport." John said. "That all you got this year? Any coal?" This earned an elbowing from Mary, but John laughed nonetheless._

_"No coal! A book! And an action figure! A puzzle! And ew, socks." Dean made a face at the package of white socks._

_"I think socks are a fine present." Mary commented, examining the brand name and feeling the soft material._

_"Boys like toys, not clothes. Sammy can have my socks."_

_Sam cooed happily and kicked his feet, but John shook his head. "I don't think Sam will fit into your socks, Dean."_

_The small boy gave his father a look. "Yes they will. Look, Dad." Using all his strength, Dean ripped the packaging off the socks and removed a pair. He placed them on Sam's tiny feet and they covered nearly all the way up to his knees._

_"They kind of fit." Dean said stubbornly. Mary laughed and John nodded. "You're right, they kind of do."_

_Dean smiled and kissed his baby brother on the head. "I love you Sammy and I hope you love your new socks."_

* * *

Dean Winchester was shaken awake by a pair of firm hands. "Jesus Christ, Dean!"

It was Castiel, who hurriedly sat next to him. "Dean, I looked for you everywhere." he said angrily.

"I'm s-sorry." the old man stammered. "I was v-visiting S-Sam." Cas clucked, his own wrinkled hands wiping a tear from Dean's cheek. "I'm so sorry, Dean. I know it's especially hard during the holidays."

Dean sniffed, looking away.

"I know, I miss him too." Castiel murmured, holding his husband's shaking hand.

Suddenly, Dean sneezed harshly, earning another anxious look from Cas. "You'll catch your death out here, God." he unraveled his scarf and wrapped it around Dean's exposed neck. "There. That's a little better, at least."

He noticed the flowers and picked them up. "You want to take these to his grave?"

Dean nodded silently, sniffling. Castiel got up slowly, his old bones creaking, then helped Dean to his feet. They linked arms and Cas helped him across the street. By the time they got to Sam's grave, Dean was crying silently. Castiel gave the flowers to the oldest Winchester, who then placed them on the dirt. Castiel embraced him fully and allowed Dean to sob into his coat.

_In loving memory of Sam Winchester,_  the grave read,  _devoted husband and brother. Born May 2 1983, Died November 9 2048. Gone, but not forgotten._

* * *

**AN - Again, sorry for that guys. Please don't kill me. ^_^**


	21. Soup

“God dammit Sam, where the hell are you?” Dean was pacing back and forth, running his hands through his hair anxiously. “Shit, Sammy… Dad’s gonna be home soon.”

John Winchester had been on a three day hunt and would be returning that night. Dean had ignored his father’s rules (“Stay home, doors locked. Only go out if you’re getting food.”) and had allowed Sam to go to a party some dude was throwing. Why? Well, Sam was generally uptight and didn’t usually even want to go to those parties. So when he finally did want to go, Dean had been proud. “Yeah, sure. Have fun, okay?”

_What the hell had he been thinking?_

A rattling of the front door caught his attention. Thank god. Dean opened it and a rush of words spilled out of his mouth.

“Sam? I’ve been so worried, I didn’t even--” Dean stopped talking immediately when he saw his father holding up a limp Sam.

“Oh, god is he okay?”

“Dean, get out of the way!” John yelled, causing Sam to moan. “Dad, m'head hurts.”

Dean jumped out of their way and glanced on nervously as John led Sam into the other room. “Sammy, I’ll be right back, alright?” He shut the door gently.

When John returned to the living room, fuming. “Dean, what the  _fuck_  is wrong with you?!”

“I dunno Dad, I’m so sorry. I should’ve--”

“You should’ve what? Listened to me, maybe?”

“Yeah, I… I just…”

Without warning, John’s hand came down on Dean’s face,  _hard_. A choked yelp of pain managed to escape Dean’s lips as his knees gave out and he crumpled to the ground. “Say a word to Sammy and you’ll never see the light of day.”

Dean nodded weakly. He deserved it. It was his fault Sammy was hurting, his fault Sam went to the party and his fault Sam had gotten drunk.  

“Stand up.” his dad hissed and Dean did as told. “Now, go take care of Sammy. I’m going to bed. In the morning, when he’s hungover, you’ll be taking care of him then too.”

The eldest Winchester son made his way into the kitchen and took out a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup. He put it on the stove and set a ginger ale on the counter.

* * *

Dean quietly entered Sam’s bedroom, tiptoeing. It was dark as pitch and he was afraid turning on the light would hurt his brother’s headache.

“Sam, I made you some soup. You need to eat something.”

His brother groaned, but turned to face him. “Dean, I can’t see... Can you turn on the light?”

Sighing, Dean pulled the chain on the lamp, allowing a flux of bright light to warm up the room. Sam gasped. “Dean, what happened to your eye?”

Dean’s hand touched his left eye gently, surprised to find it swollen. He forced a chuckle. “I ran into the wall.” he laughed. “Guess I should watch where I’m going, huh? Eat your soup, okay?”

Sam knew nothing was okay and figured that it had been John, but he didn’t say anything about it. “Okay, Dean. Would you sit with me?”

And of course, Dean did so.


	22. Taking a Swim

“I’m so glad we ganked that bitch.” Dean said, his breath coming out in little puffs. Sam laughed light-heartedly, his feet crunching in the snow. “What with all this snow, I figured it’d be hard to spot a friggin’ yeti.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, I wasn’t too worried.”

The two brothers walked in silence along the edge of a frozen lake, taking in the scenery. The trees surrounding the lake were all white and covered in ice. Dean shivered. “Damn, I should’ve brought a bigger jacket.”

Sam shrugged out of his sweatshirt. “Here, you wanna wear mine?” He held it out to his brother. Dean was about to politely decline and mutter something along the lines of “no chick-flick moments” when Sam’s foot snagged a small tree branch. In slow motion, the sweatshirt flew out of Sam’s hand and he went barreling across the ice on his stomach, rather like an emperor penguin. If the situation hadn’t been so dangerous, Dean would’ve laughed.

Sam cautiously got on his hands and knees, then stood up slowly, obviously terrified.

“Sam!” Dean yelled as he saw the ice begin to crack. Sam’s head whipped up and he looked at his older brother, eyes wide with fear. “Do not. Move.” Dean said between clenched teeth. Another loud crack and a splash caused Dean to jump. “Sammy!”

His baby brother disappeared under the ice.

Dean crawled out onto the lake on his stomach, breathing raggedly. “C’mon, _c’mon._ ” he told himself. “Just a little farther.”

He approached the hole where Sam had fallen through and plunged his hand into the icy waters, gasping in pain. Jesus, that was fucking cold.

Dean’s hand blindly searched the water for any sign of Sam. He mentally rejoiced and thanked god Sam hadn’t gotten a haircut in three years when he grasped a handful of his brother’s long hair. Jerking up forcefully, he brought Sam to the surface.

Sam’s eyes opened wide in shock and he took in huge, gasping lungfuls of air. Dean grabbed Sam by the back of his t-shirt and pulled him out.

* * *

“‘m s-so cold, D-Dean.” Sam stuttered in Dean’s arms. They were sitting on the edge of the lake, were Dean had collapsed, exhausted.

Dean violently tugged the sweatshirt over Sam’s head and hugged him. “You’re going to get hypothermia.”

“I kn-know.”

“Stand up, okay? All we need to do is make it to the car.”

And that they did. Dean practically threw Sam into the passenger seat and hastily started the Impala. Sam’s eyes were closed and his breathing was laboured.

“Sam? Sammy, listen to me. You gotta stay awake, okay? Don’t go to sleep.”

Sam mumbled something incoherent, earning a slap across the face from his older brother.

“Wake up!” he yelled. “I’m not going to lose you.”

“S-sorry.” Sam shivered, curling up into a ball. Dean angrily beat his fist on the dashboard. “Dammit, the heat won’t turn on.”

“S’okay Dean, I’m f-fine.”

“No, you’re not!”

“Ok-kay.”

Dean watched his brother shuddering as they took off down the road. His head was in Dean’s lap and he was still shaking. Dean placed a hand protectively on Sam. There was to be much cuddling when they got back to the motel room.


	23. Sick

Sam had begged Dean to let him alone. “Please, Dean, I’m _fine_.” he’d said firmly. “You need to work on teaching Cas to hunt.”

And that was that.

But being sick was no fun for Sam, although suffering alone was always preferred. For the first hour of sneezing his brains and sniffling, it was alright. There was always an episode of _General Hospital_ on or even _ER_ , so he wasn’t necessarily bored out of his mind, but he was bored after a couple hours. Knowing full well Dean wouldn’t be back for another couple of hours, Sam settled into his pillow, pulled the sheets up to his chin and prepared for a very long nap.

However, his nap was soon interuppted by a very annoying being. Annoying in Sam’s point of view, anyway.

“Sam.” Gabriel lightly tapped Sam Winchester’s nose, hoping to rouse him from his sleep. He sneezed and groaned. “What do you want, Gabriel?”

“Gabe.” the angel corrected. Sam scoffed, then coughed roughly.

“Who cares? What do you want?”

Gabriel had his arms akimbo and was frowning. “I want to play, Sam. I’m _bored_.”

“Well, too bad. I’m sick and I’ll get you sick so you probably want to back up.” He coughed loudly as if to prove his point.

“Angels can’t get sick, silly. It doesn’t happen.”

“Wanna bet?” Sam mumbled, turning away from Gabriel and shivering.

“You cold?” the man asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, so?”

Gabriel went through the motel room’s closet until he found a quilt. “Here.” he said, tossing it onto Sam’s curled up figure.

“Thanks.”

“You, uh, want some tea?”

Tea? Now Gabriel was just desperate for someone to talk to. Sam propped himself up with a pillow and crossed his arms. “Is there something you want or…?”

Gabe mock-gasped. “Sammy, I’m hurt!”

“Don’t call me Sammy.” he growled.

“No, there isn’t anything I want, you just look so… miserable.”

“Maybe because I want to sleep!”

“Fine!” Gabriel snapped, placing two fingers on Sam’s forehead. He paled.

“No, wait, sorry, I--”

A bright glow silenced him as Gabriel put him into a gentle, induced sleep. “He’ll wake up by the time Dean gets home anyway.” he muttered to himself as he set off to make Sam a cup of tea for when he awoke. 


	24. Reunion

Dean had been praying to Castiel for weeks after he fell without any sort of response. It was heartbreaking seeing Dean like this and Sam knew he ought to say something. One day, Sam opened Dean’s bedroom door to find him on his knees by his bedside, hands folded into a prayer.

“Sam!” Dean shouted in surprise, scrambling to his feet. “Have you heard? There’s this awesome thing -- knocking!”

Sam held up his hands in surrender. “Look, I’m sorry dude. You’ve been in here for like four hours so I decided to check up on you . Are you okay?”

“Swell.” his older brother snapped.

“I know you miss Cas but it may be time to consider--”

“He isn't dead, Sam.”

“Dean, there’s a great chance that he--” Suddenly, Sam’s eyes flashed a bright blue and Dean rolled his eyes.

“What do you want?”

“Dean Winchester, I have not heard of any sign of Castiel on the angel radio. It is logical to assume, for now at least, that Castiel is--”

“Stop!” Dean couldn’t let him say it. _Wouldn’t_ let him say it. “I’m going out for awhile.” he retorted as he grabbed his leather jacket.

“I do not recommend--”

“I don’t give a flying shit what you recommend.”

Ezekiel receded back into Sam’s body and Sam blinked, confused. “What?”

“Nothing. I’ll be back in a little while. Stay here and, uh, look for cases or something.”

* * *

Dean drove around in his Impala mindlessly, down this street, up another. It was snowing hard outside and he could barely see what he was doing, but he soon realised he was out of gas and pulled into a small gas station.

As he was filling up his car, he noticed a figure sitting outside the convenience store. The person definitely looked homeless, with shaggy hair down to his eyes and a small beard, mostly scruff. He was wrapped in a thin, fleece blanket and didn’t have shoes on.

Dean glanced down at his boots. He was fortunate, wasn’t he?

When the Impala was done drinking, Dean walked over to the man kicked off his shoes. “Merry Christmas.” he told the man.

“Th-thank you.” a gruff voice stammered, shocking Dean to his very core. Wait…

“C-Cas?”

The man looked up, staring into Dean’s large eyes, and smiled. “D-Dean.”

“Cas!” Dean helped him on his feet. He went into hug him but the angel stopped him.

“I d-don’t know if I w-would do th-that. I’ve been living on the s-streets for t-two weeks and I--”

Dean wrapped the shivering man in his arms and laughed. His face became serious as he pulled away and took Castiel to his car.

“Where were you? I’ve been praying to you for weeks!” Dean asked as they drove away from the station.

“I… I am no longer an angel, Dean. I lost my grace.”

Dean stared at him. “Oh, I, um, sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Well, you can live with us, you know? Me and Sammy?”

Castiel’s eyes twinkled. “You mean it? I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“Cas, you could never be a bother.”

The former angel allowed himself to smile as he watched the trees and cars blur past in his window. Little did he know the feelings Ezekiel would harbour for him.


	25. Behold, the Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, guys! I posted it on fanfiction.net but totally forgot to add it here. Hope you weren't too annoyed with me! I hope everyone had a very happy Christmas! :) First off, just a general thank you to everyone who followed this story. I started December 1 and ended up finishing a day after Christmas, so all of you who put up with me through that time period, thanks so much! I had a TON of reads so I'm also grateful for that. This will be the last chapter, so until next time (or until I get some random inspiration or a submitted request/prompt). Enjoy the rest of your holidays and happy New Year!

"Dean, where've you been?" Sam demanded as soon as the hunter stepped foot in the house. Bobby was in the living room, leafing through some book.

"Out." he responded, arms full of bags. Sam stepped aside to let him through.

"Oh. What'd you get?"

"Just a few things." He pulled out a rented DVD out of a bag. "Bobby, you ever seen  _A Christmas Story_?"

"Nope."

"Good, 'cause I rented it so we could watch it tonight."

Dean sat next to Bobby, grinning. "Alright, so I got some special eggnog," he said with a wink, "as well as the movie, some popcorn and liquorice and you know, a little something for you two." He nodded towards Sam and Bobby. "Merry Christmas."

Bobby put down his book and looked at him. "Thanks, Dean."

"Ah, well, I just think we should start making this Christmas celebrating thing every year." Dean handed Bobby a box wrapped in newspaper clippings and tossed a bag over in Sam's direction.

Smiling a bit, Sam peered inside his bag. "Dean," he laughed, "you shouldn't have!"

Inside his bag was a book entitled, "The Twelve Girls of Christmas" by BustyAsianBeauties Co., a new hairbrush and some Pantene shampoo and conditioner."

"You better use that shampoo, dude. And the conditioner is so your beautiful locks don't get tangled."

Bobby chuckled as he opened his gift. "For your flask." he read Dean's attached note aloud, ripping it off the bottle of whiskey. "I couldn't have asked for anything better."

They both hugged Dean and in that moment, he didn't have to worry about anything. He wasn't thinking about Sam being Lucifer's vessel, he wasn't thinking about his certain death and descent into hell nor his dead parents.

He felt true happiness from within him, happiness that was brought on by being with his family. Dean didn't want any of it to end, ever.


End file.
